Of Sheep, Romance Novels, and Nutty Europeans
by Tj Barci
Summary: Eirikur is ready for some fun studying abroad, but what he gets instead is a crazy cat-and-mouse game across Europe. He's become guilty by association, and he, along with his new friends, must work fast. That sheep isn't helping anybody, I tell you. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hello there! This is my first Hetalia fanfiction, so please be kind to me, okay? :) If you spot any typos, please tell me.  
>I worked hard to fix this chapter up as best as I could as far as storyline... I hope you like it. I don't think I'm copying anybody's idea.<p>

Hetalia does not belong to me :)

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><p>Eiríkur~<p>

It was hard to believe that he'd actually done it. He'd gotten out of that tiny country and was on his way to bigger and better things in Europe, starting in Scotland. Sure, he was happy to be there after that bumpy ride in the plane from Iceland, but his nerves were nearly fried and he couldn't stop fiddling with the ribbon that hung lankly around his neck. It had come undone at some point during the flight, and he had a feeling that if he tried to tie it with his shaky hands, it wouldn't look like a bow.

Someone was supposed to pick him up and provide him with lodgings, but they hadn't shown themselves yet. The airport was small and not many people were about, and that only made Eiríkur worry more. Had coming here not been a good idea after all?

"Hey, kid! You loo' a littl' flustered there!" an almost pitchy, accented voice said from behind him. Eiríkur turned to see a taller, red-haired man with a cigarette in his mouth. Somehow he managed to smile even with that horrid thing in his mouth. "Come on; don' just stand there li' a statue!" He pushed the younger boy toward his luggage and then they were on their way.

The Scottish country was beautiful; absolutely stunning and green like parts of his homeland. The drive was quiet, but only because Eiríkur had chosen to make it that way. He was terrified of speaking English, even though he was nearly fluent. His accent had yet to be worked out and even his own friends would give him amused looks when he tried to practice, so he had almost given up on it.

"So, how ya likin' Scotland? Pretty nice, eh?"

He nodded enthusiastically, trying to make up for the fact that he'd talked himself into not speaking. Hopefully he'd ask only yes or no questions.

"How was the fligh' over?" No such luck after all.

Eiríkur thought for a moment, and then gave a thumbs-down, relieved he had something to use as an answer.

"Are you mute or somethin'? 'Cause when you don' talk it sure seems li' it."

"No," he snapped, surprising the Scotsman so much that he lost control of the truck for a moment. Eiríkur was sure that they'd crash into the sign post up ahead that read 'McKenzie Farms' in flaking white paint, but he corrected his mistake just in time.

"Well, tha's good. Can' have a mute livin' wiv me now." He smiled, and Eiríkur couldn't help but give a small one in return. "Now, I'm gonna help ya carry yer sta' up and then I gotta teach ya how things work around 'ere," the man said cheerily yet sternly as he opened the front gate, which was also painted in flaking white paint. It seemed to be the theme of the farm.

Eiríkur figured that he had better respond with a word since the man was turned away from him, but before he could, the man let loose with a stream curses, and for a moment Eiríkur thought he'd done something wrong, but his companion stormed off down the rugged garden path, his boots crunching on the grey stones.

"What the 'ell are you doin' here, ya bloody˗˗"

"What am _I _doing here? I was told I was to pick up one Erikar Sigurdson at this exact address! The question is, what are _you _doing here, you horrid excuse for a...oh, if it isn't Mr. Eriker right over there! You should know better than to be causing fights in front of him."

Eiríkur's eyebrow twitched at the mispronunciation of his name. Icelandic was hard, sure, but with a little practice, surely you could at least pronounce the person you were intending to pick up's name ri˗˗ wait, hadn't he already been picked up? Who was this person?

He was a good distance away from the porch, and he dared not go any closer, so he settled for squinting. The two men actually looked quite alike, what with their thick eyebrows and dazzling green eyes. But the other man had blonde hair that shined even with the dismal grey clouds, was a bit shorter, and was dressed much nicer.

"Eiríkur, why don' you come 'ere so we can settl' this?" The redhead said, gesturing at him without taking his eyes off the stranger. What was his name again? He racked his brain for the name and realised that if he'd forgotten, he could've driven home with anyone, and this man could really be a serial killer waiting until he had settled in bed that night to rip his intestines out. But it probably wasn't likely.

_Harry, Harold, Hammy... Hugo... Hugh! That's it! Hugh._

"Hello, Erikar. My name's Arthur Kirkland and _I'm _the person who's supposed to be taking care of you. Not this bloody git." He jerked his thumb at Hugh, but still somehow retained a professional air about him. "Right?"

He looked back and forth between Hugh and Arthur, who were wearing expressions of 'I'm going to kill you the minute this kid is gone,' 'Aren't you the smart-ass, trying to take away my workhorse the minute I get him'; one fake smile, and a glare, respectively.

"Ah, er... Nei. I m-m-mean, no."

Arthur's eyebrows knit together and he looked like he was about to say something sarcastic, but he stopped himself. "Are you quite sure, young man?" Eiríkur nodded, not sure what else he could say for reassurance. The older man sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I see. Well, it was quite the trek up here, and I'm not ready to leave yet, so I expect my new friend will make me tea."

"Why shou' I?"

They exchanged knowing glances, and Hugh gave in, though he didn't seem happy about it. What was all this? They acted liked they'd known -and hated- one another for years, but they were 'new friends'?

The Brit put his hand on his shoulder ever so gently, but even so, Eiríkur jumped. He had never liked being touched without warning.

There was a sympathetic look in Arthur's eyes as he spoke. "Why don't we go get your luggage, hmm? It looks like you could use some help."

Working on the farm wasn't too hard, for Eiríkur had been doing it all his life; however, it was quite odd that there was only two cows and very few chickens. And where were the sheep? Surely the Scots did have sheep grazing on their farms?

He didn't let it bother him for long, though, because he found the work relaxing if anything else. When he was little his fingers hurt from milking the cows, but even when he wanted to stop, his father didn't let him. He guessed it paid off, because he always beat his brothers when it came to speed.

A week later, he'd settled into routine on the farm. It was rather simple, considering the lack of animals and people. He got up at six-thirty, drank a cup of coffee, and then went straight to work. He was done within two or three hours, and he was finally allowed to eat. And then the rest of the day was mostly free, with boredom abound from the lack of things to do. Hugh was tough, that was for sure.

One morning he'd stumbled out to where the cows were kept, and he could have sworn that he'd seen a person zipping past the outbuilding.

"Hugh?" His call was met with silence.

He wanted to ignore this, too, and for the most part, he did. But for the entire morning, he felt like he was being watched, and it was more annoying than it was creepy. His siblings, even his beautiful sister, liked to play these types of pranks on him, and he knew how to catch them by now. Yet every time he tried, it was like he was searching for someone invisible.

Eventually he decided he was hallucinating and left it at that.

Later that evening, Hugh had made a hearty Scottish dinner, and the fire was crackling deliciously, making all of them want to go outside even less. It had started to drizzle and it was cold. Even if he wanted to go out, it wouldn't be a problem for the native Icelander, who was used to walking in the rain without any special protection. But something told him that tonight was a good night to stay inside.

"I tell you, this is simply not something any respectable human being should eat," Arthur said.

"It's actually quite good," Eiríkur said quietly. Not because he didn't want to get in the argument, but because in the presence of someone who spoke English so well... he couldn't help but be tight-lipped.

"What are you saying?"

"Don' act so appalled. I'm sure mah buddy 'ere eats this sort 'a stuff all the time, right?"

He nodded, glad to be able to boast that he could eat things like fermented shark, sheep's head, and even -he flushed at the thought of it- ram's testicles.

Hugh smiled, satisfied with his small victory, and Arthur took a bite of the mystery food that lay on his plate, probably thinking that he would be forced into it anyway.

"Sleep," Eiríkur said simply, climbing the stairs without another word. He couldn't stand to hear them argue anymore, and he was bone-tired, anyway.

The house had two floors, but because it was so cramped, you wouldn't think so at first glance. It was built at the opening of a U-shaped group of hills, and all around it, it was perfectly green. It reminded him of home, where the grass was overgrown because he wasn't strong enough to cut it and his two older brothers were incredibly lazy. He supposed the way the hills had been formed was a nice bonus, because it provided privacy and protection.

When he'd gotten dressed in his pajamas, he picked a book off the shelves and browsed through it. It was a romance novel of all things. Why would a rough, hard-working man like Hugh have a romance novel in his collection? Eiríkur supposed that the seclusion of the place could drive anyone to the other side.

He put the book down on the tiny wooden nightstand, and soon fell asleep to the soothing, ever-present sound of the rain. For a while, he slept dreamlessly, but gradually, images of things he'd read, or rather, the way he imagined them to be, appeared. Beer from Germany, the Great Depression plaguing America, Canadian maple trees, Arthur shaking him like a sheep that'd accidently drank German beer-

"Wake up! Come on now, don't dally!"

He opened his eyes fully and a blurry image of Arthur filled his field of vision. His acquaintance's eyes were wide with fear, and he kept looking behind him at the closed door.

"Vhat's...Vhat's going on?"

"You must get dressed right away! If you can't leave your belongings, I will help you carry them, but please, don't lie there like a stupid American!" He shoved Eiríkur out of his bed and threw him the first pair of shoes he could find. It just had to be those, because they were his best pair: tall, white boots, with laces and a slight heel.

He pulled them on with a little hesitation, then he grabbed as many of his bags as he could and followed Arthur down a narrow hallway and out a side door. It was the worst possible weather; no longer was it a drizzle, but big, fat drops were falling. Coupled with the wind, it was horrid.

"Arthur, vhat are ve doing out here at this time of the night?" he shouted, for once not caring about his R-rolling or other quirks of his accent.

"Someone is after our lives, and we've got to make a quick getaway. I want you to run to Hugh's truck, even if you loose me along the way. Do you understand?"

They were running already, and Eiríkur realised quickly why these particular boots were meant only for special occasions or, at least, paved surfaces. Their soles, with little actual grip, were making him slide on the wet grass, and at one point he almost fell. Then he almost fell again when they reached an outbuilding, and he started to complain about Arthur's choices in shoes for him in such a situation, to which Arthur said, rather politely, to shut up, or _he_ would kill him instead.

"Now, when I say it's clear... go," Arthur said, looking him in the eye. There was no light at all, except for one or two electric lamps by the gate, fifteen yards away, and yet... those two emeralds of his seemed to glow as if illuminated by an inner fire. "I'll follow suit."

He did as he was told, and even though he didn't know his way in the darkness, he somehow made it. He thought he heard shots being fired somewhere, but in the rain it was impossible to tell for sure.

Arthur jumped into the truck after him and after two or three times, it started, but even with the cover of the rain, it was still extremely loud, like the roar of some large beast. The Brit cursed when shouts rang in the air and the sounds of feet splashing through puddles could be heard.

"V-vhere's Hugh?" Eiríkur asked quietly, sinking farther down in the seat for each passing moment there wasn't an answer.

The cab remained silent except for the sounds of Arthur's hands squeezing the steering wheel and the coughing roar of the engine. Eiríkur pictured his knuckles turning white and his brows knit together severely, like how his father looked when the traffic was bad around Reykjavík and the whole world, even his usually compliant son, seemed to be the cause. Even when he made a bad move and the fault was entirely his own, the blame always went on someone else.

Finally, Arthur sighed, making Eiríkur jump. "I don't know," he replied simply. "But right now, not being able to use some kind of light on this goddamned road is going to be the end of us. I've never driven on this stretch before, so I'm completely clueless. And we can't just stop, or we could die."

"Who exactly is chasing us, sir?"

"No need to be so formal. If we can get out of this secluded area and into a bigger town, or even better, a city, they'll disappear for a while. And in that stretch of time, we can get you somewhere safe. They don't like being mainstream, as you might imagine of thugs." He said it so nonchalantly that it almost seemed like he thought it was a joke himself.

"You know, I really can't believe this," Eiríkur deadpanned.

"I would think so."

"This sort of thing just doesn't happen. People don't try to kill each other unless they're involved in something shady, ya?"

Arthur started to laugh. It began as a quiet chuckle, but gradually turned into a full-blow guffaw. "Y-you actually think that's the only thing that people kill each other over?"

"Já," he said, drawing out the word.

"You, my little Nordic friend, have definitely been living a sheltered life. Either that or you're an idiot. I'll have to give you some proper lessons or something, because with that way of thinking, you'll get a black eye just for saying one word."

"I-I see."

"So, I ha' to interrupt this lil' love fes' bu'... Whaddya say ta goin' ta, oh, I dunno, England? I'm sure Arthur would li' ta go, eh?"

Arthur slammed the brakes so hard that the back of the truck was lifted into the air. Another car whizzed by them, but then they were left in stunned silence.

Was one of those people in the car? Both Eiríkur and Arthur's thoughts followed the same path as they turned around in their seats, eyes wide and frightened like a doe in the crosshairs.

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><p><strong>AN: **Did you guess who Hugh was? ;)  
>I'm sorry for OOCness... I do roleplay the majority of the characters that will pop up in the story, so I am slightly experienced, but otherwise... ^^;<br>Please review? It makes my day to read such things!


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur~

"Hugh McKenzie, I am going to bloody murder you!"

"'Ell, I wou' assume a murder wou' be bluh'y," he said with a grin.

"You bastard," Arthur hissed. "You quite nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Oh really now. I don' think i' was tha' horrible of a surprise."

Arthur had no choice but to give in. He hadn't known this man but for a few months, and had only seen him in person just this week, but he could already tell that any argument bigger than a single disagreement with him would be an endless headache.

"So, how did you manage to escape, hmm?"

He shrugged. "I punched a couple of 'em ou' while I was lockin' the door, and..." He pointed to his right arm. At first, Arthur couldn't see anything wrong with it, but as his eyes got used the darkness of the backseat, he saw that Hugh's white shirt was stained with blood. "...and affer tha', I snuck away to the truck. They thought I was as good as dead, but I was hidin' 'ere the whole time."

"Vhy did you stop to lock the goddamned door?" Eiríkur said, speaking for the first time in ten minutes, his voice shrill.

"All I ga' ou' of tha' was somethin' about a door. But if yer wonderin' about why I locked it, it's 'cause that farm was an investment, even if it was only a temporary one. I didn't want them goin' in there."

Eiríkur let out an exasperated sigh, and Arthur sympathised with him even though sometimes, he could understand even less of what he said than Hugh could.

"You are a complicated man. Not to mention stupid. But enough with stating the obvious. Where do you think we should go? We should be playing it safe."

Hugh snorted. "I though' we were done with stating the obvious. Anyway, what do you say to going to your lovely home country, li' I said earlier?"

"Normally I'd object, seeing as it's my home and is therefore more vulnerable because of my presence, but the truth is, I haven't seen my dear in such a long time, so how could I say no?" he said with a hint of a girlish squeal as he applied the gas once more.

"Are you really a man, Arthur?" Eiríkur asked, completely serious.

"I was thinkin' the same thing."

"But of course I am. Why would you think otherwise?"

Natasha~

"They've started to move?" Pause. "Vhere are they headed, based on the course they've taken?" Pause. "England? Are they trying to get themselves killed?" She sighed. "Thank you."

She put the phone back into its cradle. No one would have guessed it would be used for communications like that with its cherry red colour. She'd suggested it to her older brother herself.

A she readied herself for the day -she'd been interrupted by the call- she couldn't contain her happiness any longer. On telephone calls Natasha was as professional as possible, but otherwise she was a completely different person.

"Brother vill be glad to hear this, yes he vill, yes he vill," she sang to herself as she tied the bow on her dark bleu trench coat. She continued to sing as she brushed her long, nearly platinum hair.

While she was digging for a headband in her vanity's drawer, she glimpsed the picture of her sister and herself. She made a face at it. If it weren't for her sister's frequent visits and crybaby tendencies, she would have thrown the horrid thing away months ago. Natasha had always disliked her sister, and when it came down to it, for only one reason.

She was in love with her brother, and Katyusha was a threat to her. Natasha was dazzlingly beautiful, and Katyusha was average; however, she never let her younger sister's beauty make her depressed. Natasha held in her anger and her sorrows until she almost went insane, and Katyusha was cheerful and was more often than not seen crying her eyes out over her troubles.

Why exactly was this completely average girl [besides her breast size, which was most definitely _not _average] a threat when she had no intention of ever loving Ivan like Natasha did? Because Ivan was afraid of Natasha and ran away to be with Katyusha [or his favourite underlings, which were often objects of mild torture; _those _boys were another issue all-together]. Katyusha was more of a woman than she was, being able to express her emotions and be so kind.

Therefore, as long as she loved her darling Ivan, she would hate her sister. And she didn't intend to stop anytime soon.

She finally found her headband, which was buried in the back of the drawer, after ten minutes of searching. It was yellow and had a bow on the top, but the way she arranged her hair around it made it look like the bow was floating just above her modest bangs. After she'd gathered all the things she needed for the day and was heading out the door, she passed the hallway mirror and smiled at her reflection. She wasn't enamored with her own looks like some narcissist, but was thinking that there was no way that her brother could refuse her when she looked this good.

And coupled with the information she had to offer, he wouldn't dare.

Eiríkur~

"So that is vhy I didn't go to school?"

"More or less. 'F it wasn' gonna be for a while, why would I enroll you in school? Plus it would be kinda hard to escape with ya in one piece if we were in two places instead o' one."

Arthur gasped, and they both looked up from the window they were looking out. After a few moments of silence, he spoke.

"Look at that. Hugh actually took into account your safety. I learn something about the limits of your stupidity every day. Apparently you might actually have some intelligence, but not much."

"Alright, that's it. I've had enough of you makin' fun o' my intelligence," Hugh said, standing up and then crossing the apartment in about fifteen steps. Arthur was attempting to cook once more. It wasn't that his food was _bad_, persay, but it was an acquired taste. Even Eiríkur still picked at his food after two weeks, because he cooked something new pretty much every day, giving him no chance to get used to any of it. Arthur probably didn't realise it, but his traditional British food was definitely hearty, and he wasn't being kind to himself even though he tried so hard to please.

Eiríkur turned back around and leaned against his right arm, gazing out at the street below. Automobiles rumbled down the street, and people hurried down the sidewalks. Not so unlike Iceland, though there weren't as many people there. And there were so many new fashions and types of automobiles that he never ceased to be amazed. But even so, it did get boring after a while.

Other than going to school, he wasn't allowed anywhere; not even to the store by himself! He was sixteen, for God's sake. And their explanation was so unreasonable that he'd almost thrown something at them.

"If ya had more normal-lookin' hair, ya'd blend in wif the crowd better, and be less recognisable," Hugh had said.

Arthur had snorted, made a quick quip about Hugh's lack of intelligence, and then added, "Plus, you don't know how many of them are hiding on the streets. If we're not watching you even for one second, they could snatch you up and you could be killed."

As if that was likely with so many people about. If he screamed, someone was sure to notice.

As much as he liked both of them, they were being a bit overprotective. They weren't even his parents, and Eiríkur still had his doubts about their identities; were their names even real? And, what exactly did they do to get these people chasing after them? If they really were as dangerous as they made them out to be, they shouldn't have been on the British Isles at all. They should have been somewhere like Germany or...Spain. Their logic just didn't make any sense.

Now, he wasn't just going to walk up to either of them and demand to know all of these things: he was worried both about getting hit and what answers they'd give him, though he wasn't quite sure exactly which he was worried about more.

But, a mold of his country, as cool and compliant as he was, there was going to be a point where he couldn't take anymore of this secrecy and he'd snap; and it wouldn't be a small explosion.

**++A/N: The stuff after the first chapter is lame... I'm sorry. Please review so I can try to fix it if you find it truly horrid [I've fixed this up a bunch already] or even if you liked something about it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**++A/N:  
>I am not good at writing fight scenes, but I hope to get better -_- This chapter has a very badly written one, so please bear with me; it had to happen in order for the story to continue [I mean, I could have done something else to keep it moving, but I hate having my characters not doing anything ;)]<br>As always, if you spot any typos, tell me. Sometimes they can be horribly embarrassing .**

"You make me sick, Eiríkur. How can you merely sit there while one of your friends gets hurt like that?" Jonathan, a tall, gangly boy with lank brown hair asked him, getting in his face. His breath didn't smell bad or anything of the sort, but Eiríkur disliked close contact.

"I vasn't involved," he stated simply, waiting for Jonathan to figure out what he'd said. "Plus, vhen did I expressly say I vas his friend?"

Jonathan was more adept at deciphering his mysterious accent than others, but in the end, he was only ever able to get the gist of what he said and not the full thing, which you would think would be enough, but it caused more trouble than it was worth for speaking to him.

"Even if you weren't involved, friends are supposed to help one another out, no matter the circumstances. And you seemed to be getting along pretty well to me," he said, trying to control his anger.

"I am just trying to find out who I vant to associate vith. Right now, I vant to associate vith Reginald, but if I find out he's a bad person, I might not vant to later on," Eiríkur said slowly and coolly [mostly for Jonathan's benefit], continuing to eat his lunch. They'd said it was roast beef, something Arthur had made before. But how could they taste so different?

Jonathan had obviously misinterpreted something, because when Eiríkur looked up from his food, he was no longer just mildly angered. He was furious.

"So Mr. Pretty Boy thinks that just because he's well off, anyone with misfortunes is a bad person! Reginald is not a bad person just because of his father beatin' on him! Your ideals are in the wrong place!" he shouted at him.

By now, the entire dining hall was looking at them. Half of them wanted to watch the possible fight that would ensue, and the other half wanted to know more about this scandalous abusiveness. Even the target of the shouting was staring, his mouth slightly open. However, in a few moments, he regained his bearings and replied, "Learn to listen to vhat others say, or at least ask me to repeat vhat I said! You've no right to judge me, and especially not vhen you're clearly upset and can't make a good argument."

"Oh, I'm sorry; I can't understand you, Sigurd. Vhat did you sayth?" another voice chimed in. It was Joshua, a big lug of a kid with a greasy mop of red hair.

"I could make fun of your stupid accent, too, but I'm not."

"You know what I think? I think you're a heathen bastard who doesn't know when to shut up."

"I am only defending myself against two fellow bastards," he snapped, the word feeling strange in his mouth. Being from a strict Christian family, he'd never been allowed to say such a thing, but now...

"Oh?" His tone was so condescending... he could _feel _driving him crazy and he knew he should stop himself, but... Eiríkur balled his fists and took a few deep breaths. This had quickly turned from a misunderstanding into- wait. The whole time, they'd been intending to bully him, whether Reginald had gotten kicked in the face or not, hadn't they? He tried to convince himself this was a stupid argument one last time, but he couldn't contain his pent-up emotions any longer, and whilst Joshua was still laughing, he punched him in the nose.

It wasn't hard enough to make it bleed and was a bit poorly aimed, hitting his cheek, but it surprised their audience and the recipient alike; however, it only took a few moments before Joshua was mad as all hell, and he tripped the young Icelander as he walked back to his seat, enjoying his all too brief moment of glory. He sprawled on the floor, hitting his head on the wooden bench of the lunch table as he fell.

A chorus of laughs erupted in the dining hall, and Eiríkur's blush returned, his violet eyes blazing. He was fairly nimble, and if he'd seen it in time, he could have deftly avoided the boy's monstrous leg, but stupidly, he hadn't been expecting it.

He slowly got up, using the bench as a support. His head throbbed with more than just pain.

"Is that all you've got?" he asked, giving Joshua an inquiring look. It was clear that although Jonathan wasn't incredibly smart, he was the brains of the two, because Joshua charged at him like an unbroken stallion and missed him completely, crashing into the table behind his.

Eiríkur didn't know how to really fight, but if Joshua had such horrible sight, even with his large size, this fight would be over quickly. And he couldn't help but laugh at the poor boy, who now had a splinter in his hand from trying to stop himself before any further damage was done. He was attempting to get it out by himself, which was impossible with those drumstick fingers of his.

When he saw his enemy laughing, Joshua laid into him the same way Eiríkur had to him: taking him by total surprise. Only this time he nailed him directly in the eye; and with such force that Eiríkur saw stars even five minutes after.

Jonathan saw this as an opportunity to get a few punches in, and soon Eiríkur was backed up against the wall with more than just his body bruised.

"Oh, the wittle Viking can't fight back? That's a disappointment," Joshua said, grinning. Jonathan smiled as well; his thin lips stretched, making him look like a rat.

At this point, he didn't try to correct them. He was too tired, and he knew that if he tried, he'd just get kicked.

Ludwig~

"G-gilbert, are you sure we should be doing this?" Feliciano asked, not bothering to hide how scared he was. He never did.

"But of course!" replied the Prussian simply, continuing to fiddle with his younger brother's automobile. "Now I just... gotta... pull this... thing out and we'll be set! Ludwig won't know what hit him!"

Ludwig continued to watch from his hiding place behind the oil barrels, intrigued. He wasn't worried about what Gilbert was doing, for he was talented with anything mechanical and could probably fix whatever damage he caused.

However, he simply couldn't take it anymore when smoke started leaking out of the engine and there was a hole in the gleaming metal.

"Bruder, what exactly are you doing to my Roadster?" asked Ludwig, coming up behind his dearest older brother.

"I'm just messing around w-" Gilbert said cheerfully, thinking he was still talking to Feliciano. He turned around and gulped. He'd been caught, and there was no getting out of it.

"Go on, bruder." Ludwig crossed his arms and waited.

"Uhm, well, you see, uh..."

"He wanted to make-a sure you couldn't drive when you went shopping for groceries!" Feliciano said, quickly receiving a glare from Gilbert. "He thought it would be funny because-"

The white-haired young man clapped his hand over his friend's mouth and smiled, only to whisper something in his ear that Ludwig guessed was something like 'that's quite enough from you.'

Ludwig sighed and closed his eyes. "I'll fix it, so you two can leave. Go do something productive and..." He heard Gilbert's quick footsteps heading out of the garage and he didn't bother to continue. _One day his carelessness will catch up with him,_ he thought.

Fixing the engine would be a long process, but it was his precious Roadster; possibly his prized possession. When he was digging around for the appropriate tools, he saw in the corner of his eye that Feliciano had stayed, and was nervously shuffling his feet on the floor, unable to break the silence.

"Is something wrong?"

Feliciano flinched, as if he was waiting to be hit. "I-is Miss Isolde going to be alright?"

Ludwig froze for a moment, but then relaxed, glad Gilbert wasn't here to find out he'd named his car. "I do not know the extent of the damage." He saw his best friend's look of dismay and added quickly: "But with the right parts and tools, anything can be fixed" knowing full well that the statement only referred to machines. Two years ago, he would have used the analogy for humans as well, but after the accident, he'd been literally thrown off cloud nine and forced to think as realistically as possible.

"I'm-a sure you can do it, Ludwig! You are-a very smart, so nothing stands a chance against you!" Feliciano said, a big smile on his face.

"You don't have to force yourself to say that." Ludwig tried the smile that came to his lips, but Feliciano saw it, and the German man soon found himself enveloped in a hug from behind.

"And you don't have to be-a so modest all the time," crooned the smaller man, his voice muffled.

"I suppose so."

He continued to work methodically whilst Feliciano watched, though occasionally he would wander off and play with the barn cats or complain that he was hungry even though he'd just eaten two hours ago. Some things hadn't changed, like his insatiable hunger or his relatively positive outlook on life, but he was consistently getting more and more forgetful. He'd brought a new meaning to absent-minded and child-like.

Ludwig couldn't tell if he remembered what had transpired and he never bothered to ask, even though the doctor had insisted it was unlikely he did. The brothers were constantly on pins-and-needles, trying to hide their... side-business from him. They hadn't had to do that before, because Feliciano's own brother had been in the mafia and he therefore had some sort of understanding, though what they did wasn't quite the same. But Ludwig had decided that with him not remembering the past three years, they'd just give him a kind of fresh start.

And what Feliciano didn't know wasn't going to hurt him if they were careful enough, especially when they were trying to hunt down who had nearly killed him. Honestly, sometimes he was too sympathetic. If he knew, he would probably give him some home-made pasta and send him home with a left-handed salute, his sin completely forgiven.

They had narrowed down the list, and even if they were wrong, all their suspects were horrid people. The world would probably benefit from their deaths.

The first on their list? A Mr. Alfred F. Jones.

Kiku~

"I'm preased to make your acquaintance today," Kiku said, bowing in front of his good friend Arthur's newest partner. He waited for a response, but after about a minute of silence, he looked up to see the red-haired man staring at him. "Is something the matter?"

The man broke their eye contact and looked everywhere but the short man in front of him. "Oh, uh, no. Na' at all. It's just, no one's ever been this polite afore and..."

"That's what you'd call Japanese politeness, Hugh. You'd do well to learn a thing or two from Kiku: I think the Japanese quite nearly invented being polite," the Brit chimed in from where-ever he was. He was probably looking for one of his magic books in the closet.

Kiku smiled. Arthur never seemed to change. They were similar in that way: they did their best to change with the times, but they were hard set in their ways. Only Kiku was more prone to culture shock than Arthur, and Arthur tended to be clingier when it came to people.

_Especiary a certain person, _he thought, his smile growing wider.

"So Kiku, why'd ya come ta visit Arthur? Ya sure got good timin', 'cause we just got back about three weeks ago."

Kiku took a seat on the floor, folding his legs underneath him. He cleared his throat. "No particular reason. He'd phoned to tell me what happened, and I thought because I would be in town, I should come visit," he replied quietly, trying his best to clear his speech of his accent.

"Oh, I see," Hugh said. Kiku could tell he was suspicious, even though his tone gave away almost nothing. But there was the certain way he drew out his words, plus the look he was giving him that gave it away.

"Don't worry. I would never give away any sensitive information about any of you."

The Scotsman's eyebrows rose. "Yer pretty sharp, ain't ya?" Kiku responded with a smile.

Suddenly, the front door burst open, startling them both. A disgruntled, platinum-haired boy walked in with a tired look on his face. Kiku held in a gasp when he saw that he had a black eye.

"Who is this? Another one of your criminal friends?" he asked, pointing to Kiku, but glaring at Hugh. He had a strange, thick European accent and a surprisingly deep voice.

"He's-"

"Oh, I assure you I am not," Kiku said, walking over to shake hands even though the boy looked like he was in a mood in which he wanted to slap Kiku instead. "My name is Kiku Honda, and I'm a world traveler, even though I'm quite shy." He held out his small hand.

_In fact, the only reason I'm even talking to you is because I'm afraid you'll break something, _he thought. _That, or Hugh will go annihilate whatever hurt you, even if it was inanimate._

The boy looked at him skeptically and then shook his hand. "I am Eiríkur Sigurðsson, and I just my ass kicked, even though I'm quite soft-spoken."

"Oh? Care to elaborate?"

"I vould rather not."

Kiku laughed softly. "Well, how about we treat that eye of yours? That boy must have hit you pretty hard."

Eiríkur opted to lean against the counter, sulking. Kiku had given him something for his eye [honestly, where did he pull those things out from?], but it did nothing to improve his mood. Hugh kept trying to ask him questions, but he would only ever say he'd gotten into a fight and there were two boys involved.

"They were from school, correct? Not from anywhere else?" Arthur asked, appearing in the room like a ghost. Eiríkur nodded. "Good. I doubt boys your age would be involved in too shady a scheme, but it's always good to make certain."

"Arthur told me you are a sort of... exchange student, was it?" Kiku asked, trying to change the uncomfortable atmosphere of the room.

"Nei," he said through a yawn. "I'm just studying abroad."

_Oh? I heard wrong, then._

"Are you excited to be in England?"

"It is... interesting," he replied simply, throwing not-so-subtle glances at Hugh and Arthur, who were now arguing about the umbrella-term of citrus. Hugh was convinced it referred only to oranges, while Arthur chided that it was always limes, lemons, and everything related. _That's why it's an umbrella-term, you git!_ "My school vould be a nice place if it weren't for those two."

Kiku liked how he carefully danced around the subject of the two boys' names. He sensed that in order for there not to be any more conflict, Eiríkur wouldn't say anything more about them.

"I see."

"I must get changed out of these clothes," Eiríkur said suddenly. He left the room in a hurry, nearly tripping over the Persian rug by the coffee table on his way out.

"You've really got a strange boy on your hands," the Japanese man said once he was sure the boy was out of earshot. "But I think his heart is in the right place."

"I don't know if we can take care of him much longer," Arthur conceded, rubbing the back of his head. "The way I understand it, both Hugh and I tried to escape the life we'd led before, but I guess it ended up catching up to us once again."

"Yeah. I don' want the lad to get hurt 'cause a' us, ya know?" Hugh said.

They were more similar than they wanted to admit. It was actually quite adorable. Arthur was resuming the caretaker role once more, even though the last time he'd tried, he'd been hurt so badly he'd become a shut-in for a while, and he was never quite the same. Kiku hoped that he wouldn't get hurt again, or he might break permanently this time.

O-o-O-o-O

"I-it was nice meeting you, K-kiku!" Eiríkur said from inside the apartment, his eyes glowing teal in the light from the kitchen.

"It was nice meeting you as well, Eiríkur. I hope we can visit again sometime soon."

Arthur walked him out to the street, and they stayed out there for a while, talking. Arthur was already taking a liking to the boy, even though getting assigned to be his caretaker was probably a mistake, according to him.

"Then teach him all you can and keep a watchful eye on him as long as you can. Be as good to him as you were to Alfred-"

"Kiku, why do you refuse to live with us? I'm sure everything would be much more organised and everyone would get along better. Those two just met you today, but they already like you," the Brit said suddenly, interrupting him. His green eyes were pleading and hopeful.

"You know I like to travel around, Arthur." He blinked, trying to think of what to say. Even though it was getting dark and there weren't as many people, it was still quite loud and he almost couldn't sort his own thoughts out. "Plus, if everything slowed down, you would become soft, and then you would not be able to run. You're already a little bit... hmm, what's the word... mushy?" he teased, a smile coming to his face as Arthur elbowed him.

"I suppose you're right." Did Kiku hear a catch in his voice at the end of that sentence? No, it wasn't like him to show too much emotion, especially if it involved his own feelings. He didn't want to probe, so he bid goodbye and started to walk to his hotel.

"Oi, Kiku, how did you know about my thinking that Eiríkur was an exchange student? I only told you that there was another person staying with us."

He froze, his shoes clicking on the sidewalk. It appeared that someone else could be observant as well.

"Oh, Hugh mentioned it whilst we were talking," he lied, sensing that the man was forgetful and probably wouldn't remember their conversation, let alone tiny details like that. "I believe you were in another room at the time?"

"Hmm. Well, be careful on your way back!" Kiku was already several hundred yards away by the time he said this, thanks to his hurried pace.

_That was a bit too close. I should choose my words more carefury, even if it's Arthur, _he thought solemnly, as he turned the corner and was instantly draped in late day shadows. However, instead of providing cover and reducing his stress level, he suddenly found that they made a perfect place for a kidnapper to snatch him; a strong hand clamped on his mouth and its right counterpart held fast to his delicate wrists, threatening to break them.

**++A/N: Ooh, another cliffhanger xD Sorry, I just like them, so... Oh, and expect it to rain a lot, as I love rain.  
>When the German bros appear again, I'm hoping it will be a scene that I want to include with a doxendaschund... It's part of my head-cannon with Prussia and I hope you'll like it.  
>Did I write the characters okay? If so, please tell me! And, if you have any suggestions for plot-line or anything at all [I'm actually quite in need], please do not hesitate to message me or whatever :)<br>[Mini-rant: 3-day weekend, why you have to end?]**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Late chapter...  
>I'm nervous because I haven't gotten many reviews. Is this story good? Shitty? I want to know. I feel horrible when I ask for reviews, but... I'm also nervous for this chapter because it's half-serious, half-fluff, and it's likely I'll end up changing it.<br>I'm going to start adding snippets of songs to chapters; they may or may not fit the chapter :)

* * *

><p><em>I'm a winner, I'm a sinner<em>  
><em>Do you want my autograph?<em>  
><em>I'm a loser, what a joker<em>  
><em>I'm playing my jokes upon you<em>  
><em>While there's nothing better to do<em>

* * *

><p>"Oh, you really <em>are <em>small," a rough female voice said. "Brother said you were short, but I did not imagine you would be this easy to overtake. I do enjoy a little bit of a struggle."

"Ego ga wakarimasen," he said, hoping the introduction of this foreign language would dissuade her from squeezing so hard, and maybe make her think she'd captured the wrong man and he was totally innocent.

"I do not know what you just said, but do not be stupid. I just heard you talking, so there is no vay to prove that you are not Kiku Honda."

"I'm impressed by your strength," he said, buying time. He carefully avoided saying 'you're strong for a woman.'

"My strength does not matter. Now I vill take you to Brother and depending on how you behave, you might get out alive. If you are not up to his standards, he vill punish you."

"Oh? I'm sure I can handle it. Unlike your brother, I won't run from certain... scary things."

She dragged him out into the streetlight; the sharp change of lighting hurt his eyes a bit. Not to mention those nails of hers: they were more like finely manicured claws. "H-how would you know that? We only just met!"

"There are a lot of things I have access to. You yourself are an open book, and I can find out many things about you if I want to. For instance, you were a show-girl not long ago, back in New York City. You wore quite the revealing dress."

She sized him up, her ice-bleu eyes roving up and down his small frame at least ten times before she let the matter drop for the moment.

"Brother will like you." She said no more after this and roughly led him away through a maze of buildings so quickly there would be no time to remember the path she was taking. He groaned inwardly at the thought of not being able to find his hotel without a lot of trouble. English streets were cruel to foreigners.

Kiku smiled at the feudal way they handled things. They didn't even trust an unarmed man in a room with two guards, so they'd tied his wrists to a chair, and at one point a woman with short hair had put a blindfold on whilst apologising to him profusely, but a cheerful-sounding man had ordered that it be taken off.

"Now, I do not vant to keep you vaiting, so I will cut to the chase, as they say. Give us as much or as little information as you vant about Arthur Kirkland. The choice is yours," the big man said gleefully. But Kiku could see the bloodstained metal weapon he held in his hands behind his back, and he didn't even need to look for the choice he wanted Kiku to choose elsewhere.

"He's a friend of mine. He was the biggest help when I was learning English, and I am grateful that he does not mind my... uniqueness."

"Vhat uniqueness?"

So much for cutting to the chase.

"I thought we were talking about Arthur Kirkland."

"Not only him I am intrigued about, but you too," he said in broken English. That long sentence before had probably been practiced a great many times. "Natasha say that you know about me before ve meet. How?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Are you sure she's not making up a story to win your favour? She seems like the type to do that." Kiku resisted the urge to smile at that little bit of cleverness. Natasha made her love so obvious, and for once, it was doing some good.

Ivan's eyebrows rose. "I am very impressed, Kiku. Now, back to Arthur."

Kiku's determination to keep his promise kept him tight-lipped and even more polite than usual. However, to Ivan, he seemed uncooperative, and he would have none of that.

"Are you try to protect Arthur?"

Ice raced through the smaller man's veins, his armor cracking. How much longer could he lie? Arthur was a good friend of his, but if his life was threatened...

"No, not at all. I'm giving to you as much as I know, sir," he said, his mouth dry and eyebrows furrowed slightly. Why was he doing this? He'd never been the type to form deep attachments, even when he was a child and friendships were everything. Even _that man _wasn't special enough to receive a form of love from him.

"Oh?" He giggled. "I have reason to believe not." The room seemed to grow colder as the man paced around him, daring him to give in. Kiku's hair was sticking to his forehead, and a pesky drop of sweat made his brow itch. He longed to flick it off, his fingers twitching.

"What is your business with him?" he asked boldly after a few minutes of silence. The guards eyed him, but still continued to say nothing.

"I do not want to tell you. And vhile on the subject, my business vith you done if you refuse to stop protect your friend."

"Brother, please don't do it," the short-haired woman pleaded, entering the room once more, as if she'd been hovering outside, hanging on every word they'd said, waiting for her cue. "He... he seems like a nice man, so you shouldn-"

"Oh Kat, you know that cute face of yours always vin me over, but this important. I cannot have disobedience." It was cruel, the way he liked to use that cheerfulness for the worst sentences.

Kat's pouty lips parted, her hand reaching out ever so slightly to her brother. However, she stayed in her silent internal torment, unable to decide whether or not she would be able to incur her sibling's wrath for a stranger.

_He's going to hurt him._

The stray thought caught him off-guard, making his jaw tighten. He locked eyes with her, daring her to think or say _something_, but she was closed off once again, and she returned his gaze, the sadness in her eyes transcending words. Her face was contorted in the way it does before one begins to cry. It was an odd thing to think, but Kiku thought that her tears would only make those turquoise pools even more beautiful.

"I am a reasonable man, so I ask you one question to save yourself," he said after a few minutes of thinking, "Vhat did Arthur last buy, and vhat did he do with it?" He really did know how to ask a clear question after all.

Anyone else who had been paying attention would have said flour, eggs, and a new book from that corner store, but Kiku knew that he meant something different entirely. Illegal weaponry.

However, he didn't know what he'd bought. Who in their right mind would tell someone that, even if they were a friend? Kiku didn't dare ask or search his mind for it. Until now there was no reason to know.

"I do not know. That is the whole truth, Mr. Braginski."

"I see. And how you know my name? I told Natasha to keep her mouth shut, so there no vay you could come by it unless you already knew me. And Arthur would not say much to you, because you mean much and he not vant you hurt." He smiled sweetly, but his violet eyes sparkled cruelly, foreshadowing what was to come.

_Do something, do something... quickly, quickly... Don't let him-_

"Don't make assumptions. I could've learned your name from anywhere. I travel a lot, and from what I hear, you are quite famous in black markets and the like. You're going in circles, asking me again how I know things," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth, almost as if they were tripping over one another. He was taking everything from strands of information that were coming to him in waves now that they were connected in _that way_. It had surprised him, the way his mind had just suddenly melded with his enemy's, but he was glad it had.

"Oh?" Suddenly Kiku's vision went dark, and his head ached something terrible. Had someone struck him? No, it wasn't that. It was Ivan's mind. It was unstable, and the longer they stayed connected, the more of an effect it had on Kiku. Ivan was not for beginners, and apparently not for near masters like Kiku. "I cannot think of many other vays to get information... and Kiku lie to me, so I can only think of one to repay for my vasted time."

He brandished the steel pipe and swung it around a few times to get the feel of it, even though he had used it many times. Many a person had died because of Ivan's insanity, and he would continue to kill, his hunger for violence insatiable.

Kiku thought, quite randomly and perhaps the result of the panic racing through his body, that the world was a bit like those stories Arthur had let him borrow: in which the people were trapped in a dark house or on a ship with a murderer among them, and they'd all slowly go insane trying to eliminate him to save themselves even if they said were trying to save others. Even he-

The metal connected with his skull with a resounding _thwack _that only it could have made. It wasn't sufficient in breaking the link, however, and as he was beaten, he felt the joy it gave the Russian man to hit him over and over. He tried, futilely, to bend over into a more forgiving position, momentarily forgetting about his bondage; it only gave Ivan better headway into beating him to death. Fighting his body's need to close his eyes, he tipped the chair backwards in a last attempt to delay him. He felt a sense of vertigo falling, especially when he couldn't see the floor beneath him, and he screeched when the back of the chair finally collided with it.

"You are very stubborn. I like this."

Natasha was right. Ivan did like him. He liked him so much that he would not kill him. No, he'd let him live; even if he was just a touch crippled, he could still be of use, couldn't he?

Hugh~~

_"Don' be li' tha' now. I didn' mean it!"_

_"You must have! You're always so sincere with everyone... and... and..."_

_"Hey, darlin', don'..." He had reached out to touch her shoulder, which was shivering with sobs, but he stopped. "Ya know I ain't sincere in the least."_

_She turned around, her soft brown eyes sparkling, but not from tears; it was from laughter. "See! I knew you weren't stupid!" she giggled, smacking him on the arm with her delicate hand._

_"Ya're a feisty lass." He pulled her into him, hugging her gently, knowing the difference between their builds, their strengths, their weaknesses... "Tha's why I love ya."_

_She let go of him just for a moment and looked him in the eyes, her perfectly-shaped mouth opening to say something-_

_The scene changed, and he found himself confused, the feeling of loneliness physical. The images he saw before him were no longer crisp, but nearly blurred beyond recognition. There were whispers; hateful things, they were. Hinting at things just out of reach from your ears. Like dreams. Like love._

Hugh slowly awoke to the soft light of the flat, though in his sleepy eyes it appeared to be that of a stage. His sheets were completely twisted around his legs and the comforter had fallen off the bed at some point in the night.

"Musta been playin' football in my slee'," he said to himself through a yawn. The flat was quiet except for the hurried footsteps in the outside hallway that Hugh guessed were Eiríkur's as he ran to school.

Arthur would have left just before him, going to his job at the office. Those boys always welcomed him there, even if he'd been gone for months. The girls liked him too, they did. Blondes were always popular.

"I wunner 'f he likes the attention," he muttered, pouring lukewarm coffee into a drab, chipped, white mug. The quiet made him uneasy, so he started to hum a song he'd heard on the radio; though he couldn't quite remember the lyrics and ended up repeating some parts more than twice.

Cars zipped by outside and the man that owned the flower stand yelled at someone for who-knows-what, his voice floating to the half-cracked window.

In some ways, Hugh missed that little cottage in Scotland. It was old as the hills that surrounded it, but it had character. It was special. And when he thought of those hateful people running around like shadows, ransacking his little darling, he nearly threw his mug at the floor just to envision what it'd be like to break one of their heads.

Why, oh why had he involved himself in this business? It wasn't worth the trouble it caused. It was a question he asked himself often.

You had to be strong and constantly looking behind you, lest someone sneak up on you. Find your Achilles Heel. And especially with Hugh, who was even more self-conscious and afraid of being tricked than Arthur... he absolutely could not let that happen.

He slowly got dressed into a collared-shirt and smart-looking slacks, though he had nowhere to be that day. He wanted to look like he had purpose.

After making sure [twice] that the door was locked, he descended the stairs and made a right, thinking on his feet. _The park is nice mid-mornin', with all that pritty sunlight streamin' through the trees,_ he thought whilst also thinking that he'd never be a poet or a writer, as he could never seem to articulate his words like those people could. _They see the world diff'rently, don' they. They can see ev'rything we're seein', only they can translate i' into a pritty language ev'ryone can mos'ly understand and enjoy._

Why was he thinking of that, of all things? It had to have been because of the dream he'd had last night; it was coming back in fragments as dreams often did, but because it was such a touchy subject, even fragments made him want to forget about it.

He plopped down on an empty bench and watched a young man with coppery hair paint the bridge and the small pond underneath it, like artists often stopped by to do. Hugh honestly didn't see the appeal of it, because it was something normal to him. But there was that special vision subject again. He sighed.

After most of the hustle and bustle of the street had died down, he decided to walk down to get some more coffee to wake himself up. _Odd tha' I li' coffee instead a' tea. _

When he got the steaming cup, he was, for some reason, giddy, and he gulped it down even though it scalded his throat. He ordered another.

He wondered if they'd have strong coffee like this in France... and if his left hand would stop throbbing...

* * *

><p>I hope that wasn't too lame, lol. Was my Japanese correct?<br>And I meant to say this before, but my interpretation of the Scottish accent seems a little odd to me xD I've heard it before, yes, but not in a while; and I can't quite figure out how to write it out. I like for there to be constrasts between accents, but... gah.


	5. Chapter 5

**++A/N:** Was this a late chapter? I can't even remember. I hope it isn't too lame. You'll notice I changed some details. Random: The time in this story passes oddly. I want it to be quick, but not too quick, so I'm sorry if ends up seeming kinda dumb. The end of this chapter is like, brand-new stuff. I spent an hour and-a-half on it, so that's probably why it's a bit... yeah. I usually spend more time on my stuff but for some reason I just shot this one out. Next chapter might be an omake/bonus thing if I can finish it.  
>I find the song in this chapter to relate well for some reason... very EirikurIceland-ish... I dunno why xD I took a few lyrics out, you'll notice. {writing this at 9pm and very tired}

_As a warning for future chapters:_ I'll try/I try to make this as historically accurate as possible, but all I've really got is the Internet and some info my parents give me [- grandparents in workcamps and army in WW2]. So please don't murder me, history nuts. I do try. This chapter might be fixed in the near future if I find a mistake.

* * *

><p><em>When are you gonna come down<em>  
><em>When are you going to land<em>  
><em>I should have stayed on the farm<em>  
><em>I should have listened to my old man<em>  
><em>You know you can't hold me forever<em>  
><em>I didn't sign up with you<em>  
><em>I'm not a present for your friends to open<em>  
><em>This boy's too young to be singing the blues<em>

_Oh I've finally decided my future lies_  
><em>Beyond the yellow brick road<em>  
><em>What do you think you'll do then<em>  
><em>I bet that'll shoot down your plane<em>  
><em>It'll take you a couple of vodka and tonics<em>  
><em>To set you on your feet again<em>  
><em>Maybe you'll get a replacement<em>  
><em>There's plenty like me to be found<em>  
><em>Mongrels who ain't got a penny<em>  
><em>Sniffing for tidbits like you on the ground<em>

* * *

><p>Eiríkur~~<p>

_"Vhy do I have to meet you then? I don't imagine you need help vith your homework."_

_"Just do it, yeah? You won't regret coming, I can assure you."_

Oh no, no he did not. How Eiríkur had ended up with his second kiss, he couldn't have exactly known, since he'd been so clueless and refusing of it, but he was so incredibly glad now, he had nearly forgotten his stupidity.

"You're not very experienced, but..." she murmured, her small fingers buried in his silvery hair, her tongue quite nearly in his mouth. He wouldn't let her actually do it; he'd just let her think she was being sloppy. "...you have potential, darling." Her name was Sarah, and she was sweet, really; pretty, too. But she was awfully forceful when it came to kissing.

"You think so?"

"I do indeed."

"Vell, that is good to hear. My brothers alvays told me I'd die alone."

"That isn't very nice. Well, when you go home again, you tell them that Sarah McCarthy thinks you're just amazing."

"They vould think I vas making it up, but I'll give it a try." He backed up from her, finally getting some non-perfume-smelling air into his lungs. He was also pretty sure she had her period, but whenever he thought about it, he felt a bit embarrassed, so he let it go.

Even after he'd said goodbye and was walking home, she had wanted to follow him, but he'd said no, knowing full well that any kind of girl would not be allowed in the flat.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, darling," she said cheerily with a little bow. Boy, that hemline was short. Had she noticed as well, and was just playing ignorant with him, or was she really stupid? No, it had to be the former, definitely. That ignorance... it was like a sort of catnip for boys, and it was certainly working on Eiríkur, for he watched her run home for as long as he could even though he'd been so insistent on going home himself.

When he finally started moving again, he was simply giddy, his mind somewhere up in clouds, where before he'd been so concentrated on keeping her at bay.

Did he have an actual future with her if he'd let himself open up a bit? The question kept coming to the front of his thoughts, but was occasionally replaced with thoughts of her long brown hair and sparkling brown eyes.

So engrossed was he in these thoughts that he nearly jumped out of his skin when hands latched onto his shoulders and yanked him backwards, his body going completely cold with fright.

"V-v-vhat the hell?" he gasped, his eyes going wide. Who the... He turned around to see a certain mischievous redhead smiling at him, his green eyes sparkling with delight and amusement. "Hugh, is it your hobby to scare the shit out of people? I thought I vas going to get kidnapped!"

Hugh's eyebrows furrowed and he took his cigar out of his mouth. "Tha's na' funny, kid. En'way, ya looked like a bloomin' idiot. I nearly thought ya was gonna walk into a wall or somethin'."

Eiríkur's cheeks coloured, but he didn't say anything to defend himself. They began walking towards the flat. It was a nice place, that flat. It didn't matter that it was in the wrong country or it was a bit cramped at times; especially when he wanted to be alone. It was home.

Hugh, who was a bit better at cooking than Arthur, had made dinner that night; lamb, of all things. Paired with the red wine, it seemed a bit odd to the Icelander, but he let things be. Things were calm, and he didn't want to get into a stupid fight over food.

"How vas vork today, Arthur?"

"It was the same as usual. Rather boring," he sighed. He took a sip of the wine, and he used the same technique to put the glass back down that he did for tea: by extending his pinky just a bit so it wouldn't make a horrendous tap on the table. "You?"

Again Eiríkur flushed, though he supposed it wasn't that big of a deal. Still, he didn't say a word. "It vas normal as vell. School is almost alvays boring, you know."

"Oh, spill it, will ya?" Hugh said suddenly from the kitchen. His cheeks were coloured too, but from something different entirely. "He was mackin' on a girl behind the school buildin'. I think ya woulda been proud!"

Eiríkur spit out his wine. "Vhat vere you doing, stalking me?"

He shrugged. "I had nothin' ta do, so I was waitin' for ya and I just happened ta see ya." Eiríkur glared at him, hating that stupid, drunken grin on his face. His cheeks continued to burn with embarrassment.

Arthur watched with amusement, one thick eyebrow raised appraisingly, as though he was part of some high counsel; perhaps even king of his own little band of misfits.

"What'ser name, hmm?" Hugh put his large arm around the teen's shoulders.

"None of your business," he huffed, untangling himself and scooting closer to the small table. He picked up his fork once more and ate hastily, all the while keeping a wary eye on Hugh, who kept saying things like 'Our littl' boy's growin' up so fast!' and 'Aw, Arthur, remember when Alfie was this cute?' Who was Alfie?

They continued to talk about mundane things like things happening in America and new songs on the radio. Then, when Eiríkur had gone to clear his dishes, Arthur said, very nonchalantly, "We're moving to _France_ in a few weeks."

"Ta a bluh'y perverts house, righ'?"

"Yes, yes indeed. Part of me regrets it, but the other more British part of me wants to lay every single problem of mine on him."

Out came the wine again.

* * *

><p>It was about eleven at night, and the teen found that he couldn't sleep even after packing, so he decided to go get some milk. Maybe a few sips of wine if he was lucky. It didn't matter, right? Italy wasn't for another week and-a-half.<p>

He entered the kitchen a little too loudly, and he hadn't expected his host to be sitting there, let alone so solemnly. He was chilled. The air itself seemed thick. Forget the wine.

"Oh, hello. What are you doing up so late?" Arthur was tense, but he'd forced himself to relax for his charge. They both knew that something was wrong, and they both knew that the prideful Brit would try to deny it as long as he could.

"I could not sleep." Eiríkur pulled out a chair and sat quietly, trying to see what the thin papers said. The moonlight was in just the right position for him to read it, but he wasn't proficient enough in English to read it backwards, so he ended up putting his chin in his hands. "What are _you_ doing up so late?"

He sighed, looked like he was going to say something, and then finally decided to let him read his secrets. There were many words he didn't understand, and he didn't think he could quite grasp it, but he decided it meant this: someone close to Arthur had died. Eiríkur figured that was enough.

Silence enveloped them, and as the older man stared at the swirls in the wood, the Icelander's mind whirled. There had been words like 'conscription' and 'recruitment' along with fancy terms he guessed referred to legalities. What did this have do with-

"I won't be going to France with you. Perhaps we'll have to change your destination or you will stay with some of my friends in the east." His voice sounded hollow.

"I still don't understand. What is this rrrecruitment?"

"It's 'recruitment,' and it means they want me to join the army. My brother died and for a reason I can't comprehend, I'm to replace him." He said it with a sense of finality that made Eiríkur angry. He couldn't just leave them. Not now.

"They can't make you do that," he said, his voice small.

Arthur chuckled bitterly. "Says the boy from the land with no military of its own. Those Danes wouldn't help you even if a volcanic eruption threatened to wipe you all out. The British military required me to be trained not two years ago, and now that that's on my record, I can't escape from it. Perhaps it will be good, seeing as I'm a wanted man. I could be cleared."

"B-but you have to...you must..."

"I must-what?"

In hindsight, Eiríkur probably should've taken in account how explosive the atmosphere was, but he didn't. And because he didn't, he ended up with a black eye.

* * *

><p>Arthur~~<p>

"Are we quite calm now?"

"Y-yes."

"That was an idiotic thing to argue about." There were no objections.

"I am sorry. I was selfish in my thoughts." He paused, moving the piece of meat to better suit the injury. "What was your brother's name?" Dangerous territory, but less shaky now that they'd broken ground.

"William. William Douglas O'Connell-Kirkland. He was annoying, so annoying, but I loved him more than anything in the world. Except, of course, my two other brothers Ian and Alexander. I shan't be leaving them out."

"And... and do you know where you will go?"

"Oh, you mean where I am assigned. I haven't the exact details yet, but it is in Italy. Beautiful place they chose, really; full of beauty and culture. But I could be moved at any time."

"I will miss you," Eriker said. How sweet the boy was. He was raised well.

"As will I."

However reassuring the young boy's words and even mere presence was, his brain was filled with thoughts of not sadness but fear and anxiety.

Kiku was gone without a trace. Joining the army meant weakening the flood gates on his most closely guarded secrets. And William didn't die honourably like they wanted him to believe, or else they wouldn't have called on him. He was murdered. And whoever was after William was most likely prowling about for Arthur; and whoever was closest to him.


End file.
